


From Here, Where?

by AKMars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:24:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately after the events of Ep.10: 'Number Crunch'.  Finch-heavy in the first couple of chapters, due to Reese's condition.  The story is Rated M for future violence and sexual innuendo.  I ask for the readers' patience while I build to it (and other things).  Your indulgence will be well-rewarded.  </p>
<p>This work is 5 chapters long.  The story continues from that point in 'Finite Chances, Inifinite Possibilities'.  Please check it out if you liked this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reflections

**From Here, Where?  
** Chapter I: Reflections  
Rating: M for future chapters  
Finch/Reese Friendship and..... 

Note: This first chapter is Finch flashing back to his own 'accident'.

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_Sooner or later, both of us will probably wind up dead…really dead._

Finch had grown accustomed to being alone. He'd been a solitary, bookish child. As a teenager he'd found a passion for the newly budding technology of computer software, parlaying that into a degree and a career that left little time for socializing. It had however, brought into his life the man who became his closest friend. The perverse irony of course, was that the manipulation of said technology into his Magnum Opus had taken Ingram from him.

A part of his soul had died that day. He hadn't thought it would hurt to the degree it did; so much so that the pain had taken him by surprise. The cool, analytical part of his mind at first thought he might be courting a heart attack. It had made sense at the time...he'd been under tremendous stress from the discovery of his creation's 'superfluous' information and Ingram's reaction to it. He and Nate had argued again that very morning about responsibilities and consequences. It wasn't until they lowered Ingram into the ground that he realized it was grief, not angina, constricting his chest.

The week that followed was a blur, up until the moment the car exploded. In the millisecond before the shockwave threw him into an adjacent store window, everything fell into place. Even as his body was wracked with excruciating pain, he realized with stark clarity that he and Ingram were loose ends being 'tidied up'.

The precautions he'd introduced before Nathan's death stood him in good stead. As their worth, both financially and to certain organizations increased, he'd become aware of a need to protect himself from outside...influences.

To their credit, his bodyguards had acted exactly as he'd requested to the emergency. The first responder in their ranks held him together as best he could until Finch's private ambulance arrived. It took him to the clinic he'd had built, with an eye towards his geriatric care in years to come. The team of surgeons on call had rebuilt his spine with titanium plates and screws; reinforced his right femur and stabilized the hip joint. All actions that would insure he had some degree of self-mobility after recovery.

While this was happening, the clinic's director released a statement to the NYPD that, in spite of their best efforts, the victim of the car explosion had not made it off the table. A cursory investigation into the bombing was conducted and relegated to the 'UNSOLVED' files pool, to join other cold cases. The powers that had followed the chain of events now turned their attention to other, more pressing matters. The problem had been dealt with, the potential threats neutralized.

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Miraculously, Finch's arms had sustained only superficial cuts and bruising. No injuries prevented him using a keyboard; which he did as soon as the pain medication he had been put on was reduced to a level which allowed him to think on a more 'normal' plane. His chief of security had related everything that had occurred since Finch had come through surgery. The billionaire issued instructions as to the execution of his will and disbursing of his estate.

Thanks to this and the additional electronic measures he'd already taken, the man Harold Finch had been before now ceased to exist. A modest headstone stood at a fresh grave hard by the one of his former colleague. The co-creator of 'The Machine', as he and Ingram had with ironic humor christened it, was dead.

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	2. Tense Present

**From Here, Where?  
** Chapter II: Tense Present  
Rating: M for future chapters  
Finch/Reese Friendship and......

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To a casual observer, the small man's demeanor would appear calm and collected as he stared out into the rainy night...had anyone been present to observe him, that is. A major perk of owning a private clinic was the very private penthouse/recovery suite that took up the top floor of the building. He sat in isolated luxury, waiting for word from the doctors. The same team that had put him back together were now working on Reese.

His physical limitations would render pacing a pain-filled hell; but although his body was still, his mind was whirling with the events of the past few hours. From the moment that Finch had realized Carter had given his partner up, the billionaire had gone into survival mode. He'd not thought about prudence or the need for caution; not spared one consideration for the numbers that could come at any time. He had fixated solely on the need to get to John, to save his...friend.

Reese's comments over the earwig only made Finch more determined to get to him before either Carter or the CIA operatives did. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt fear of that magnitude, even for himself. He floored the gas pedal, heedless of the consequences. He'd be damned if he lost John as he had Nathan.

When Finch had pulled into the parking garage and saw his partner stagger out the stairwell, he reached to grasp the arm Reese extended towards him without hesitation. He gladly bore the pain as he supported the taller man, locking eyes with Carter as she pointed her pistol at them. Finch knew that he'd have shot her without compunction if he'd had a gun then. No-one was more surprised than he when she holstered her weapon and assisted John into the backseat, telling the other man to get him out of there.

Finch took the detective at her word and sped off before her sense of duty overcame her conscience. Fortunately, his clinic wasn't far from their location. He notified the staff on the way and they were standing by when he arrived. Not one person raised an eyebrow or asked questions; they just got the injured man on a gurney and wheeled into pre-op with the efficient chaos of an experienced medical team.

And now, Finch waited...his friend's blood still staining his shirtfront and hands. Waited for news of success or the finality of failure. After what seemed hours a knock roused him from his trance. He got to his feet, wincing as stiff muscles protested the movement. The recluse limped over to the door and the clinic administrator entered.

"Sir." The younger man greeted his employer with professional deference.

"What's the prognosis, doctor?"

"The patient made it through surgery just fine, Mr. Smith. He'll be under monitored care tonight, to make certain he comes out of the anesthesia without complications."

"Will there be any lasting consequences as a result of his injuries?"

"Nothing that is apparent at this time. He'll need to be on bed rest for the next couple of weeks and limited activity for another four to six while he heals."

"May I see him?"

"He's still unconscious but we've set his room up for your convenience, Sir. I've taken the liberty of having some of your personal effects brought down there."

"Thank you, doctor."

The administrator inclined his head and took his leave. The slender man stepped back into the darkness of his apartment, securing the door out of habit. No-one in this establishment would dare appear unless he called them but Finch believed in prudence above all.

He pulled off his glasses, resting his head in his free hand. A sharp exhalation of relief escaped him and he wiped his eyes, acutely aware of the tears but unable to stop them. He allowed the reaction to run its course then took a couple of deep breaths, struggling to rebuild his calm facade.

Once again collected, the billionaire straightened his tie and left the apartment. He descended to the post-op wing to keep watch over his partner.


	3. I'm Here

From Here, Where?

Chapter III: I'm Here...

Rating: M

Finch/Reese: friendship and ?

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The rise and fall of the sleeping man's chest maintained a steady counterpoint to the heart monitor. Finch's eyes focused on each breath as if to look away meant Reese would suffocate in front of him. His mind knew how absurd the thought was even as he continued his vigil.

The ex-operative stirred, as if struggling back to awareness. His hand twitched where it rested on the hospital blanket. Harold reached out and took it in his own, hissing as he felt how cold it was. He used his other to pull the blanket up a bit higher around his friend's torso, plucking at it with nervous fingers. Even though they were alone, he still felt awkward showing any gestures of intimacy.

Finch wasn't used to caring. It was, in fact, quite alien to his nature to feel any level of camaraderie for another person. Even the bodyguards who'd saved his life after the 'accident' were not close to him by any stretch of the imagination. He employed them, he trusted them and as long as they did their jobs well, that was all that mattered.

To feel responsible for Reese, even _protective_ of him was something that Finch thought had burned out of his soul years ago. It was strange...almost frightening.

_When had things changed?_ he wondered. Reese's not so subtle prying into his past and his personal habits had been a source of irritation to the billionaire from the beginning. Finch thought he'd made it plain that his desire for privacy was not to be infringed upon. The CIA man's cold wariness at the outset led him to believe that desire to be mutual.

In fact, working with other man initially had made Finch feel a bit like a lion tamer; doing his best to maintain some semblance of control with a top predator.

Reese was neither lion nor tiger, however. He was a solitary hunter, keeping to the shadows. Silent, patient, as he stalked his prey; as long as was required for success. Like the leopard he reminded Finch of, the ex-operative preferred to hunt by night, the end results (if necessary) being just as lethal as the big cat's.

What he hadn't counted on was as Reese sobered up and became more involved with helping those whose numbers had been flagged, he'd also begun to feel again. To Finch's surprise, his partner seemed to seek out his company more and more as the weeks passed. John was sloughing off the persona of his years of self-imposed isolation as easily as he had the clothes he'd worn as a street person.

Not that he'd become chatty...Reese still preferred silence as his most common mode of communication; but it had become a companionable one of associates, rather than opponents. The billionaire was nonplussed when his operative would show up with tea for him some mornings or food just as he was beginning to feel hungry. He knew the man now considered him a friend as well as an employer.

He supposed the first real thawing of his own attitude for CIA man was after they'd recovered the judge's kidnapped son. His partner's expression of gratitude had been genuine. It had touched Finch enough that he'd let his guard down a fraction and given Reese a glimpse into his world.

Subconsciously, Finch had begun to look forward to seeing Reese between calls to investigate a new number. While on his own business about the city, the billionaire had at times felt a tickling at the back of his neck and knew that his partner was watching over him. It now felt...comforting.

_The last time I was this attuned to anyone was with...Ingram._

This thought had stopped Finch cold. Ingram...who'd been his best friend as well as his business partner. Ingram who'd become...much more, in time. _Nathan_...whom he'd trusted with his life, with...Finch shook his head. The recluse hadn't let anyone get that close to him since...until now.

"Har-old?", Reese's quiet whisper was rough from being intubated during surgery.

Finch snapped back to the present at the sound of his name. He squeezed the hand he held in reassurance.

"I'm here...you're safe."

Dry rasp of disbelief. "For how long?" Reese's eyes remained closed, as if opening them would take too much of what strength he had left.

The billionaire moved closer to the bed. "No-one can find you here...I saw to that myself."

The injured man sighed, relaxing as his partner's words penetrated his hazy brain. "Told you...not to..." Reese stopped, swallowing against the pain of talking.

"Yes, well you work for me, so that means I have executive veto powers." Finch's tone was as acerbic as usual. "Fortunately for you I chose to exercise them in this case."

The amused grunt was all the reply Finch needed. Unthinking, he stroked his thumb across the hand he held. He was surprised when he felt John tightening his grip for a moment. He looked at the other man's face and saw the steely, blue eyes open a fraction, trying to focus on him.

"Harold...you-"

A soft knock on the door caused Finch to start, jerking his hand back against his chest as if he'd been burned.

"Sir, may I come in?" a woman's voice called through to them.

"Enter." The billionaire's voice was clipped.

A nurse stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Finch regarded her warily as she approached John's bedside.

"The remote monitor informed us the patient had started to regain consciousness. I need to check his vitals and his wounds, Sir."

He nodded, watching the nurse like a hawk as she completed her procedures and examined Reese's bandages.

"You seem to be doing well, do you need anything?"

"Th-thirsty." the ex-op croaked, coughing to clear his throat.

"Try not to talk for awhile. Your airway is irritated and it has to heal. I'll bring you some ice chips, we can't give you water just yet, you'll have trouble swallowing for a bit." The nurse looked over at Finch. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Thank you."

The two men sat in silence until the nurse returned with a cup of ice and a spoon. "Would you like me to..." her voice petered out as she took in the expression on Finch's face. "I'll leave this here then." She placed the cup on the tray table. "If you need anything Sir, just use the call button." The nurse left with alacrity and the recluse knew that no-one else would disturb them unless John's condition worsened.

Reese coughed again and struggled to pull his arm from under the blanket.

"No...no..." Finch's tone was firm. "I'll get it." He reached for the cup and shifted his body so that he faced Reese. "Would you like your head raised?" The question was strained, as if he were uncertain.

Reese made a sound of affirmation and Finch adjusted the controls so that his torso was elevated. With a delicacy that belied his normal, jerky movements, Finch scooped a small amount of crushed ice onto the spoon and offered it to the injured man.

Reese regarded him a moment, then opened his mouth. He accepted the ice, grunting as a piece slid down onto his chest. The billionaire put the cup down, pulling some tissues from the bedside table.

"I'm sorry, John..."

Finch apologized as he removed the stray chip. "I've never..." he hesitated, his cheeks pinking a bit. "this is not something I'm used to doing." He tried to explain, touching the tissues to the side of Reese's face to absorb the trail of water. He shifted his gaze to the other man's and was surprised to see a slight smile twisting his lips. Harold felt himself smile in response, noting the humor shining in the blue eyes.

Reese's jaws worked as he carefully chewed the ice, swallowing tiny amounts of water as it melted. When he'd finished, he flashed his signature smirk that unsettled Finch each time it was turned his way of late.

"Doin' fine...Harold." the abused vocal chords croaked again.

Finch looked down as he felt strong fingers cover his wrist. He felt a flutter of...something in his chest at Reese's touch but gave no outward sign of being affected.

"More?" he asked, gesturing to the cup.

Reese opened his mouth in lieu of answering.

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	4. System Reset

From Here, Where?

Chapter IV: System Reset  
Rating: M  
Finch & Reese: Friendship and...

Notes: Sometimes what is not said speaks louder than our words...

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 _He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.  
At distance, no one but death the redeemer will humble that head,  
The intrepid readiness, the terrible eyes...  
-excerpt from 'Hurt Hawks' by Robinson Jeffers_

 

Reese on strong painkillers to enforce a medical order of bed-rest was preferable. Reese becoming restless but still seeing the necessity of staying put; tolerable. Reese after another five weeks of enforced inactivity was enough to make his employer contemplate purchasing a tranquilizer gun for his own peace of mind.

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"I just want some fresh air, Finch...I'm not going to run a marathon."

"Alright, but put a coat on." Unspoken was the question: _Do you want me to come with you?_

"Okay..." _I'd like that._

Uncharacteristically, the billionaire had forgone his three piece suits during Reese's recuperation. He was dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and a pullover sweater. He slipped a jacket on and without a word handed a long coat over to his companion. Reese took it with a hint of exasperation and the two men rode the private elevator up to the roof.

The operative turned his face to the wind and inhaled deeply...only a slight hitch of pain in his lower abdomen remained after all this time. The breeze pushing between the skyscrapers ruffled his hair. He closed his eyes and enjoyed this tiny bit of freedom for the gift it was.

 _Nice to be out of the cage for awhile..._

"Walking he track should afford you some easy exercise, Mr. Reese...if you like."

 _Go on, I'll wait for you...I don't mind._

John turned to look at his employer. "You could use the walk too, Finch. You haven't left the hospital since you brought me here." Even as he said it, Reese realized what an understatement it was.

 _Come with me...please._

At Reese's suggestion that Finch join the op in his walk, he felt a small flush of pleasure. He'd been certain that the other man would seek out what solitude the roof would offer.

 _Of course._

He fell in beside Reese as they stepped out onto the synthetic surfaced path and they walked in silence; each lost in their own thoughts.

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Although the first days after Reese been shot were a blur, the few lucid moments he could recall had Finch in them...getting him water, his medication, changing bandages... and later assisting him to the bathroom and back; preparing his meals. Finch had taken up residence in one of the penthouse's bedrooms. The one opportunity Reese was able to poke his nose in to look around (while Finch was showering) he'd found no personal touches at all. A garment bag hung on the back of the door and the bed was neatly made; trust the billionaire to know how to fold precise hospital corners.

 _I know how much you've done for me, I appreciate all of it...appreciate you._

The ex-op had gained a new respect for the quirky, mercurial man who was so meticulous about his privacy and yet obviously had feelings for him. Oh Finch's stepping into the role of caretaker could be explained as the expedient way to maintain security. The fewer people involved in the process, the more practical; but the reclusive genius had done everything with the sole purpose of seeing to his comfort. Reese had feigned sleep on a couple of occasions and caught Finch watching him with an almost wistful expression on his face. It had taken all the injured man's willpower not to act on the feelings this roused in him.

 _I care about you Harold._

He wanted Finch just as much as he could tell the other did him. Reese also knew that he had to tread with caution. Too strong an overture would only send the billionaire back into cover and possibly ruin any chance he had of getting closer to Harold. And the thing Reese wanted very much was to be closer to Harold...

 _Very much..._

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Finch regarded the other man with appraising eyes. Reese was much improved it was true but he still needed time to heal. His cheeks had lost the waxy, pallid complexion they'd had for so long. His strength was returning; even his annoying restlessness was proof that he was on the mend. Privately, the recluse was in awe of the ex-op's recuperative powers. Finch knew that had he survived similar injuries (which was doubtful), he would still be incapacitated by them.

 _You're so strong...how in God's name could you ever want someone like me?_

The billionaire had surprised himself with his willingness to take over Reese's care personally. He was fastidious in his avoidance of dirt, blood...complications and yet he experienced no disgust or horror at tending Reese's needs. It felt natural...almost good in fact. He felt truly useful, in a practical way for the first time in their association. Here was something he could do besides stare into a computer screen. Something that had tangible effects in the physical world...something that mattered, to someone he'd come to care for.

 _I let you in. I didn't want or plan to...but I'm glad it happened._

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The taller man adjusted his pace without effort, so that Finch would be able to stay at his side. Reese took advantage of his own weakness to pause often, allowing the billionaire to rest his leg unobtrusively. On the far turn of the track, Reese settled in on a bench that afforded the sliver of a view of Central Park. Finch awkwardly sat down next to him and for a moment they both stared into the distance.

 _I'd stopped giving a damn about everything. You brought me back; helped me fix myself._

The ex-CIA man slid his eyes sideways at his companion and saw that Finch had closed his own, creases forming on his forehead as he coped with the pain lancing through his lower extremity. Under the pretense of alleviating his own discomfort, Reese shifted until his hip and injured leg were pressed against Harold's.

 _I'm sorry you're hurting. Here...better?_

He could feel the trembling in Finch's muscles ease as the body heat he was sharing did its work. The recluse gave a quiet sigh of relief.

 _Thank you, yes...that helps._

Finch's posture relaxed still further until John felt the unexpected, yet welcome weight of the billionaire's shoulder leaning into his.

 _I trust you._

Reese could have sat there forever...wanting more, yes but content with what Finch was willing give. When the cold finally got to be too much, Reese stood up and turning, offered his hand to his employer.

 _I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be here for you when you need me..._

Finch stared at it for a moment then took it in his own and levered himself up off the bench. Reese didn't actively assist, but Harold was grateful for the steady strength that helped him find his balance. Once on his feet, the billionaire shifted his grip to Reese's elbow.

 _I know...I will too._

They took their time returning to the penthouse.


	5. Moving On

From Here, Where?

Chapter V: Moving On

Rating: M (sex)

Finch & Reese: Friendship and ?

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Alone, for a few precious hours Reese had solitude. Finch had spoken with the clinic administrator after his most recent assessment and John had been cleared to leave. The billionaire had decided that they would go to one of his many properties scattered throughout the city and, returning to his normal attire of a severely tailored suit, had gone out to make preparations.

 _"I trust you'll find some way to keep yourself occupied, Mr. Reese."_

 _"Maybe I'll make a parachute out of the bedsheets...beat you downstairs."_

 _Finch's lips quirked. "The doctor's right, you are ready to be released...for the staff's sanity, if no other reason."_

He turned and left the penthouse. Reese waited a full half hour before moving over to his employer's laptop. Finch had left standing instructions that should his operative need anything, one email to the administrator would insure it was taken care of without delay. John fired off two missives and then headed into the bathroom, stripping off the sweatpants and t-shirt he'd been lounging in.

Standing in front of the mirrored wall, Reese studied his body, sliding his fingers over the puckered scar tissue on his abdomen. Coming so close to death had given the ex-CIA man much to think about during his recovery...not the least of which had been his feelings for his employer.

His fingers slipped down to touch the matching scar in his thigh. John closed his eyes and remembered reaching out to Harold as the other man stumbled towards him; fear for John eclipsing the recluse's need to maintain any dignity in his movements. He'd never realized how strong the billionaire's grip was...but before that night he hadn't even shaken Finch's hand; let alone been embraced by him. One incident had tipped the scales, changed everything between them. Nothing had come of that though...yet. Reese was almost back to his old self and his old self was used to taking matters into his own hands. It was time.

Stepping into the shower, the ex-op turned the water on full and as hot as he could stand it. His wounds had healed enough that the scars would soften but not re-open.

He sighed with pleasure as the hot spray cascaded over him. He intended to make up for the purely functional cleanings his injuries had forced him to endure up to now. He was going to stay in here until his fingertips looked like raisins. The woody-spice scented shower gel removed the last lingering traces of hospital antiseptic from his skin. God, how he was sick of that smell...even in the penthouse suite an occasional whiff still made it through the elevator.

John scrubbed the luffa over his torso, wincing with displeasure as he felt the slight softness of his stomach. Forced idleness had resulted in a loss of muscle tone and he made a mental note to inquire about gym time with Finch, to get himself back into shape.

 _Finch...Harold..._

Thinking of his employer made the need to be on form more urgent. He couldn't protect the man if he wasn't fit. Resting one palm flat against the tiled wall, Reese's other hand slid down to stroke his pubic hair.

 _Harold, here...in here with me._

Reese pictured the shorter man's pale back in front of him, water beading off of the untidy, spiky hair and slipping down his shoulders. The ex-op could only imagine what the scars from Finch's injuries must look like but he would enjoy exploring them with his tongue and lips; enjoy reaching around his chest to grasp one of the billionaire's nipples and tease it into hardness.

John's soapy fingers moved lower to cup his scrotum, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure to send a pleasant jolt along his penis. He closed his eyes and it was Finch's hand on his balls; Finch's hand caressing the length of his shaft as it stiffened beneath the recluse's fingers.

 _Kissing Harold...his thin lips, soft...yielding_

The op rested his head on the tiles, breathing faster as the tempo of his strokes increased.

 _Harold's tongue exploring his mouth, his free hand cupping the back of John's head to bring them even closer...Harold's soapy finger teasing the head of his penis, smearing precum underneath his glans...gripping him again, harder until..._

"God!" Reese gasped as he orgasmed; spattering the walls of the shower with semen. "Harold..."

Both hands splayed against the wall, Reese trembled with exhaustion. Granted it had been awhile since the last time he'd had anything approaching sexual activity; as well as recovering from two gunshot wounds. He took several deep breaths to steady himself. This was the first time he'd masturbated fantasizing about Finch. While it was in itself satisfying; Reese knew the reality of being with the other man would far outstrip what pleasure he'd just gotten.

The ex-CIA man stepped back under the stream of water, still blessedly hot, and rubbed his hands over his face to clear his head. He cleaned himself up again and washed his hair before rinsing away the evidence of his activities.

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Thoroughly dried, Reese wrapped the towel around his hips and stepping back into his slippers, padded over to the door of the suite. He cracked it open and saw a garment bag hanging on one of the coat hooks against the wall. A shopping bag sat on the floor underneath it. John brought both inside and began to dress.

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He was giving himself a last look in the mirror when Finch's laptop beeped. Reese tapped a key and read the message. The op smiled and shrugged into the dark charcoal top coat that had been delivered with his other clothing and left the penthouse without a second look.

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Finch held his temper in check by the thinnest of controls. The clinic administrator stood at his side in the underground parking garage; his stance one of abject apology. When the billionaire spoke, his tone was deceptively mild.

"And what exactly did my associate say?"

"Sir, his email said th-"

"That I would meet you down here."

Reese smiled at the sight of his employer's expression as he stepped out of the elevator and walked towards the car. He was pleased that his leg had loosened up enough that his limp was almost imperceptible.

Finch stared at his friend's altered appearance; his mind contrasting the image of the man approaching him with the way Reese had looked on the night he'd brought him here. Part of him was relieved, Reese was well again. Another part of him was curiously wistful; wondering if this was so, where they would go from here.

 

NOTE: While this first act has come to its conclusion, the play is still very much in progress. I'm not done, just pausing for a scene change. I'll be posting the first chapter of Act II in the next couple of days and yes, it will more than live up to the M rating I've slapped on it and that all of you have been patiently waiting for.

Thanks to everyone who's favorited, reviewed and commented on my PoI fics. I really appreciate the input and I've enjoyed reading other authors' contributions to this amazing fandom. What a great program and an amazing source of fanfiction fodder!


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